Sherlock Holmes

by Keisuke Matsuoka

  Anna simply nodded. “Naturally. Chekhov and I went to great pains to lay the groundwork for this plan, using our connections in the Ministry of State Property. The book was not our only gambit. Giving Japan permission to use the Trans-Siberian Railway for trade? That too was done to hasten industrialization in the country. If you had not realized the truth, in 20 years’ time Japan would have crumbled under its own weight. Sickness would have spread and the nation would have been transformed into a lawless archipelago. An unhealthy environment would also turn foreigners away, and the English would choose not to intervene. Japan would revert to the same state it had been during the fall of the Bakufu.”

  Ito grew even angrier. “These were the Emperor’s orders?”

  “Yes, but we were not following the Emperor’s orders alone. We were not content to sit by for decades, waiting for Japan to implode. The childish games of the Tsarevich and his brother put all of Russia in danger. So we formed a new plan. What if Tsarevich Nicholas, or rather Grand Duke George, were to be assassinated while in Japan? Then their foolishness, their game of switching places, would be brought to a swift end, and the Emperor and Tsarevich would be so enraged that they would invade Japan immediately.”

  “So it was your underlings, Akhatov and Denikin, who goaded Sanzo Tsuda into committing the attack,” Sherlock said. “They found one man still clinging to his belief in joui, a policeman so physically and mentally shattered that it was simple to plant suggestions in his mind and spur him into taking action. They fabricated evidence that Takamori Saigo was alive in Russia, I presume, and showed that to Tsuda.”

  Anna sneered. “Very impressive, Mr. Holmes. You have it all figured out.”

  “It was you and Mr. Chekhov who planted the rumors of a man named Olgert Bercerosky. You invented him. He never existed, thus we could find no traces of his activity to uncover.”

  “We only made up that ridiculous story about dissidents from the Second International after Tsuda failed. Grand Duke George is in a coma, but he is still alive. But originally it looked as if he would recover. The Emperor was not angry enough. He still preferred to wait for Japan to destroy itself with pollution, rather than to invade.”

  “Nicholas, however,” Sherlock said, “was unaware of this fact. The father never revealed his secret plot to the son. At first, Nicholas returned to Russia, sure that his father would seek revenge. When his father failed to take military action or demand compensation, however, he was discouraged. Believing his father to be weak, he sailed to Japan himself.”

  “The Emperor was aware of this, of course. That is why we were sent with Nicholas. Naturally we had our own separate mission.”

  “To deliver the altered copy of The Complete Work on Russian Natural Sciences into the hands of the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce. Indeed, this was your primary mission.”

  Anna shrugged. “It would have seemed suspicious if we had given the book up too readily. Minister Mutsu had been attempting to obtain the book from us for some time. We decided it would appear most natural if it was given as a reward, in recognition of your impressive consulting skills. We knew you would uncover what the brothers had done eventually, if we released the information in stages.”

  Sherlock’s expression remained calm. “That explains why the case was so simple. I was being led.”

  “Once the translation was complete, we replaced the book with an unaltered copy so that there would be no proof of what we had done. We took great pains to ensure that the staff at the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce, with their shallow level of expertise, would never notice the discrepancies if they compared the original and the translation. This ensured that if a written stance about pollution were to be presented to the Diet in ten years’ time or so, the Ministry of Agriculture and Commerce would dismiss it. Or rather, our plans should have ensured it. Mr. Holmes, might I ask how you realized the truth? According to our information, you understand neither Russian nor Japanese.”

  Sherlock snorted and glanced at Shevich.

  “I requested another copy be sent from Russia,” the ambassador explained.

  Anna glared at him contemptuously. “You imbecile. Why would you do such a thing?”

  “My reasons were complicated. I wished to avoid British involvement…Regardless, doing so has allowed me to learn the truth. I cannot believe that these were the Emperor’s orders. I was told nothing.”

  “Of course you were told nothing. In the future, if there was a dispute over the content of the Complete Work, it was important that you had plausible deniability. Without any evidence, you would feel no responsibility, and Russia’s name would remain clean.”

  “So I was used as a shield…”

  “That is what it means to be an ambassador. They are pawns sacrificed to the enemy for the sake of the country. A pawn has no need to see the board.”

  Ito had still not overcome his shock—not at the sudden change in Anna’s personality, nor at the stunning feat of intellect Sherlock had performed to unravel this mystery.

  Sherlock had claimed that he only wanted a copy of The Complete Work on Russian Natural Sciences to scientifically analyze the natural phenomena of Japan so that his powers of deduction would be put to better use. But it was more likely that he had already foreseen the necessity of confirming the book’s contents. His foresight displayed stunning levels of imagination and vigilance.

  Sherlock spoke. “Did you think that employing Tzybin would buy you more time? Your plans are over. Now that Japan is aware of pollution, this crisis will be averted. The Japanese are diligent, and will likely find a way to halt or even reverse the spread of environmental damage even before the rest of the world does. The Okhrana’s attempts to manipulate both Russia and Japan have now been thwarted.”

  Anna’s expression grew icy. “Are you sure Japan knows all about pollution now? Rather, isn’t it only Chairman Ito who is aware?”

  The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted. Anna raised a hand. The curtain by the window split open; a human shadow lurked there. A young man with blond hair, holding a pistol. He raised it in Ito’s direction.

  Sherlock acted in a flash. He crouched over the chairman, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him down to the floor. A split second later the sound of a gunshot tore through the air. The room was illuminated with a flash of pale blue light. One of the guards groaned and toppled to his knees.

  In the next instant, a barrage of gunshots erupted. The bullets must have struck the wall, as a fine rain of woodchips began raining down on them. Soon the room was enveloped in clouds of powder, smoke, and dust.

  Sherlock had just saved his life, Ito realized. Even now he continued to shield him from the bullets. At the moment, Ito’s only concern was whether or not his friend was safe.

  An angry shout broke through the gunfire. The noise ceased, and the voice grew distinct. It was Kanevsky. “Stand down! Stop shooting!”

  The few remaining pops trailed off, and the room fell silent. Ito’s ears were ringing. As he attempted to sit up, Sherlock crawled to the side and leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh.

  Ito rushed over. “Are you all right?”

  “Perfectly fine,” Sherlock said, waving him off with one hand. “More importantly, look at this prodigious mess.”

  Ito glanced around the room and gulped.

  The room had been half-destroyed with bullets. The furniture and the decorations were ruined, with pieces scattered across the room. The tattered curtains were caked red with blood, and Anna Luzhkova lay slumped over her desk. Several bullets had apparently pierced her body, and blood was seeping from wounds on her back. Her face lay on its side, eyes wide. Her pupils were dilated and unblinking. She was clearly dead.

  Sherlock approached the window. Ito followed.

  There was a pistol on the floor. Sherlock turned over the young man who lay prostrate next to it. His blond hair
was stained red. He had been shot in the face.

  “Our only witnesses have been killed,” Sherlock spat.

  Kanevsky rushed to his side. “It was self-defense, it couldn’t be helped.”

  “There was no need to kill the lady as well! There must be a reason that Chekhov is not here. It was utter foolishness to allow her to die before we learned what that reason was.”

  Sherlock rifled through the young man’s coat as he spoke and withdrew the man’s wallet. There was an identification card inside, impressed with the Russian seal of the double-headed eagle.

  Shevich drew close and peered at the card. “Jacob Akhatov, Ministry of Internal Affairs Security Department. Another member of the Okhrana.”

  There was nothing else remarkable about the contents of the man’s pockets. Sherlock placed his nose near the dead man’s temple. “He smells of seawater. He has changed his suit, but before that he may have been swimming in the ocean. There is a depression in his skin where wire was wrapped around his finger. It was not made in one day—he did this every few days. The mud on his shoes is mixed with sand.”

  The detective withdrew several small paper packets from his own breast pocket. Each was inscribed with a place name, in English. He opened the packet marked “Daiba.” There was soil inside. He withdrew a pinch with his fingers, and with his other hand scraped some of the dirt from Akhatov’s shoes. He rubbed his fingers together on each hand. “They are the same,” he muttered. “This man was walking along the shore at Daiba, no more than an hour ago.”

  One of the other packets caught Ito’s eye. “Hold on, does that say pleasure quarters?”

  “Consider it insurance, to maintain the domestic bliss of your household.” Sherlock stood up. He approached the remnants of the gunfire-decimated desk, and opened each of the drawers. Next he moved to the bookshelf and began rifling through the books, tossing them aside as he searched.

  Shevich eyed Akhatov’s corpse. “I travel to Daiba frequently and I have never seen this man. Perhaps he was disguised as a sailor.”

  Sherlock continued upending the contents of the bookshelf. “He has no suntan so he could not have been passing himself off as a sailor. The compression marks on his face indicate that he was wearing a diving suit. Yes, here we are.”

  He waved a large book in the air and opened the cover. The insides had been carved out into the shape of a cone. He turned to Kanevsky.

  “Can you think of any weapons or equipment used by the Russian military that would fit this cavity?”

  Kanevsky peered inside the book. His expression grew pinched. “A suction plate for a land mine. It has a waterproof guard so that the mines, usually buried underground, can be used at sea. The plate is attached with wire.”

  Ito gasped. “You think that this Akhatov was going to sink the warships?!”

  “Wait,” Sherlock said. “The timing would be too coincidental. We must assume that there have been explosives on the ships all along, and that Akhatov was only checking and replacing them.”

  Kanevsky nodded. “The waterproof cover is not perfect. If it is left in the water, the cover must be replaced once every two to three days.”

  Shevich furrowed his brow. “Are you telling me that there have been explosives attached to our ships all this time? To the Laskar?”

  “They must have taken measures to ensure that Russia would mount an invasion, should their plan to lead Japan down a path of self-destruction flounder at its inception.”

  “When you say measures…” Shevich’s eyes widened. “You mean Tsarevich Nicholas!”

  Ito stared at Sherlock. “If Chekhov learns of what has just occurred…”

  “He will act immediately. If the warships in port are sunk and Nicholas is killed, it will surely spark a war. Our discovery of the switched books will be for nothing.”

  “Do you think they are already on the move?”

  “I cannot say. But Tokyo is very quiet once the sun goes down. That volley of gunshots earlier was probably audible from a mile in every direction. It’s probable that Chekhov and Denikin are in Daiba, but if either one was still nearby and heard the reports, they would be speeding to Daiba by carriage.”

  Then there was not a moment to spare. “We must mobilize the police immediately,” Ito declared.

  Shevich cleared his throat. “We shall telegraph the Laskar, as well.”

  Sherlock took charge. “Telegraph Russia first. If the ships in the harbor are sunk, they must know it was the Okhrana’s doing, not Japan’s. You must notify the Emperor quickly. Otherwise, Chekhov wins.”

  Then he rushed out the door. Ito chased after him.

  They were in the midst of the greatest threat Japan had encountered since the Restoration. Once, Ito had failed to prevent the Battle of Shimonoseki. He would be damned if he failed again, even were it to cost him his own life. If he failed now, modern Japan would meet its demise at the young age of 24.

  34

  The Daiba port was illuminated with a faint glow. Torches burned, and constellations of lantern light migrated across the area. The sound of hoofbeats was constant. Carriages arrived in droves, assembling at the top of the hill, from which uniformed police officers poured down the narrow path toward the shore.

  Ito and Sherlock alighted from one of the carriages and joined the frenzy. The smell of the tide was omnipresent. Cool air blew in from the sea, stealing the heat from their bodies.

  Sherlock directed his attention toward the pitch-black sea. The nine warships were still parked in harbor. So far, nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  Ito rendezvoused with Sonoda. Kanevsky had brought his guards with him and was yelling at the sailors in Russian. Leaving the chaos of the hilltop behind, Sherlock headed for the outlook.

  He peered over the balustrade, down at the shoreline, where there were several small boats being gathered. It was a random assortment—everything from steam-powered crafts to rowboats. Policemen crowded around the boats, impatient to board.

  “Mr. Holmes,” Ito caught up to Sherlock and panted. “Sonoda has gathered over 100 boats. With all these people searching, I am sure we will find the attached explosives.”

  Sherlock shook his head. “They are not all in diving suits. The ocean is dark, and the explosives are attached to the bottom of the ships. The men will be useless unless they dive.”

  “The navy is on its way now. They have a great number of divers. Until then, we must do what we can.”

  From behind, a voice called, “Ito!”

  They turned and were confronted by a Japanese man in a blazer. He approached quickly. Kaoru Inoue! He held his cane in one hand—the one with the hidden blade. “I put a call out to the fishermen as soon as I received your message,” he said. “They are all men accustomed to nighttime skin diving.”

  Sherlock couldn’t hide his surprise. “You plan to have them fumble around the bottom of the ships with their hands?”

  Inoue nodded. “Of course. With enough men searching, I’m sure we will find the explosives.”

  “It is dangerous. And the bottoms of the ships are quite deep.”

  “Japanese fishermen dive naked as far down as the ocean floor. They cannot afford expensive equipment.”

  Their courage, at least, was commendable. But there were other worries to contend with. Sherlock called: “Lt. Colonel Kanevsky! If the land mines beneath the waterproof covers are tampered with, will they explode?”

  “There is no saying how they were set,” the lieutenant colonel replied, “but if they need to be replaced on a regular basis I doubt they are so delicate.”

  “Then how do Chekhov and his man plan to detonate them?”

  “Probably they would dive down and attach a wire to the fuse in advance, and pull the wire from some faraway location. That is the only method I can think of. Fishing boats travel between the ships on a regular ba
sis, so I doubt the wires would be constantly tensed.”

  Sherlock turned back toward Ito. “Excellent. Get the police and fishermen out onto the water, and Chekhov and Denikin will be unable to run the wires.”

  “According to the sailors, Chekhov set out toward the ships on a steamboat with a young man. They had many sailors aboard with them, so it is unlikely they could dive anywhere along the way. But it’s not clear which ship they boarded.”

  “Not the Laskar, surely,” Ito murmured.

  “Likely not.” Kanevsky nodded. “Ambassador Shevich already wired Russia. He also contacted the captain of the Laskar. Everyone on board has been directed to remain on standby, and to do nothing prematurely. Naturally that includes Tsarevich Nicholas. All of the sailors on land who have any diving experience are being mobilized to search for and remove the explosives.”

  Sherlock held up a hand. “No, ask the Russians to stand down. The Japanese police and fishermen are already on their way.”

  “Stand down?” A look of irritation appeared on Kanevsky’s face. “Those are our ships out there, and it is our crown prince being targeted. It is the Japanese who should stand down.”

  “These are Japanese waters,” Ito snapped back. “In fact, the boats are still in harbor. Police jurisdiction applies.”

  Kanevsky ground his teeth. “And what will Japan say if the explosives are detonated first?”

  Sherlock replied, “It is less a matter of whose responsibility it is now, as it is of danger. Chekhov is a portly man with red hair—it will be obvious if he attempts to conceal himself among the Japanese soldiers. Denikin, however, is another story. He could get close to the explosives by pretending to be part of the search party, and then pull the fuses in an act of suicide.”

  “You ask us to stand here biting our nails as we watch from shore?”

  “That is precisely what I ask. Any other course would be pointless. You must rely on the industriousness and cleverness of the Japanese now.”